


Within Your Reach

by sebviathan



Series: in between the lines (there's a lot of obscurity) [6]
Category: Psych
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon Dialogue, Episode Tag, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, also. listen. lassiter has bpd, finally some self-awareness, s03e16 an evening with mr. yang, to some extent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 11:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10875738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: “You call me a killer, but thetruthis… I complete things. And that is what people really want. To feelcomplete. That, and a corner booth.”





	Within Your Reach

**Author's Note:**

> I think we all needed this.

The first time Mr. Yang went on a killing spree in Santa Barbara, Carlton was only three years out of the academy, just barely a rookie cop. It was the first string of murders he ever witnessed on the force, and he admittedly found the whole situation both terrifying and thrilling.

He _fantasized_ about going head-to-head with a killer like that—despite how traumatized the detectives who dealt with the murders seemed afterward. At twenty-five years old, he felt sure that, given the chance, he'd do better.

He may or may not have admitted it to a department-sanctioned psychologist, but part of him even _wished_ for a repeat performance so he could have that chance.

And Carlton got that wish about a year after making detective, but only the first half of it. Yang was targeting their then-lead in forensics, who'd had a startling record of very quick case-solves from the past year. Not yet cleared to investigate homicides, he could still only wait on the sidelines and _hope_ to be the one to catch a piece of evidence that the detectives and forensics didn't.

Of course, he did not, but neither did anyone else. They failed, and Yang's victim washed up on shore, and at least three of the cops involved left the force in the following few years.

In that time, Carlton felt sure of his path—he was going to move up the ranks, and he was going to prove to be invaluable to the SBPD, and surely, eventually... he was going to be a target. He certainly wasn't going to relinquish the position of detective just to avoid that, so he knew what he absolutely had to do: make sure that he wouldn't lose when the time came.

So he did all the research he could—on Yang's patterns (or lack thereof), his motives, the nature of his challenges, the traits in the people he picked... He needed to be _ready_.

The next time Yang resurfaced, the target was the SBPD's then-head detective, Marks—his own superior officer.

But also more than that.

They weren't boyfriends. Aside from a professional partnership it was mostly sexual, but... Carlton admired him. Marks was about ten years older than him, and he was experienced and a _genius_ , and he was everything Carlton wanted to be. Marks was a constant in his life—the _one_ person he could trust.

And when it came to Yang's challenge, Marks made him stay out of it. Not because he didn't think Carlton was a capable detective, he'd claimed, but because he didn't want his junior to be caught in the crossfire. Because he'd already been personally involved the last two times (technically seven, counting each victim), and he refused to let himself be distracted by protectiveness over Carlton while dealing with this.

He said those words _to his_ _face_ , in fact, which was probably one of the sweetest things Carlton had ever heard in his life, but he was still pissed. Marks even ordered other officers to keep him away from the scenes, so there was no sneaking in anyway.

Even so, Marks failed, resulting in yet another death of an innocent caught up in Yang's game. He was harder on himself than any of the other officers Carlton had seen go up against Yang—or perhaps Marks was just the only one close enough for him to know? Because he broke down like Carlton had _never_ seen that man do before in two whole years.

Secretly, Carlton believed they could have saved that girl's life if Marks had just let him help. Though he might not have kept it a secret if he'd ever had the chance—

Marks took a three-week long vacation after it ended, and then transferred out of the state without saying a word to him. Carlton wouldn't have said aloud that he was crushed, but that's exactly what he was for the next several months.

...Until he met Victoria.

Six months later he married her. Another year later, a then-anonymous tip helped him catch the Back Bay Killer, earning him a permanent rank as Head Detective.

He's been ready ever since.

 

*

 

The moment he reads the word ' _psychic_ ' on the second half of Yang's instructions, there is a dread deep in Carlton's gut unlike anything he's felt before.

And then... jealousy.

It's only after thirteen whole years that it actually occurs to him how _fucked up_ that is. He's _jealous_? Of course, he's been waiting specifically for this day for years, and in _any_ case he'd prefer Yang's target be him than Spencer, but—

God, what's _wrong_ with him? He's witnessed first-hand what happens to the people who go up against this sadistic wackjob, and yet he's feeling _inadequate_ knowing that Spencer was called out instead of him. Like this is about _anyone_ but an innocent person's life and the probable trauma of whomever Yang has challenged. Who is not him.

"The harsh truth is, this is _his_ game," Vick tells Spencer, and unknowingly reminds Carlton. "And we just have to... play along with him."

"That's a terrific plan," Spencer says at once. "Especially since it's worked out so well in the past."

Carlton feels a jab of _something_ in his stomach at that, but Spencer isn't _wrong_.

McNab runs in to tell Vick that the mayor is on the phone, and Vick promptly tells Carlton to introduce Spencer to their point person. He's hit with that dread again, but there's no time to dwell on it.

"Spencer, listen up—"

"Woah, woah, woah," he starts. "I'm getting—I'm getting something already."

He sounds just serious enough that Carlton feels a rush of relief.

"What? What is it?"

"I can see the killer."

Spencer crosses the room with a hand to his head like he's having a vision, at which Carlton is _extremely_ suspicious. For all that the man's proven to be able to observe and detect on a level that the rest of them simply cannot, there is _no_ way. _No._ That would require him to be an actual psychic.

" _Already?_ " Carlton demands.

"Yes. And I know exactly where he is." Spencer pauses seconds too long and then drops the seriousness entirely, pointing to the very person Carlton was about to introduce him to. "Right there."

He is... _so_ glad that O'Hara takes it upon herself to explain Mary Lightly's role to Spencer, because he is suddenly _seething_ a far disproportionate amount. He has no idea what to say to him or how to say that this is no time for dicking around—he can barely _breathe_ , he couldn't speak to Spencer at the moment if he _tried_ _—_

It really only lasts a moment or so, and Carlton luckily doesn't think it was too obvious.

 

*

 

The last two victims of Mr. Yang were neither close nor too distant with the detectives who were targeted. Casual acquaintances, nameless neighbors, people who otherwise made a relatively normal appearance in their lives but never stayed for too long...

In that forensic guy's case, the woman was a cleaning lady in his building. In Marks's, it was a young girl who skateboarded past his house on weekdays. Carlton had been to his place enough times to have seen the kid, even.

 _Surely_ the woman who's been taken this time must be... someone he helped out on a minor cheating case. Or a waitress Spencer has a habit of chatting up. Something like that.

But... nope. Spencer met her _today_ , when she served him and Guster their breakfast.

And now... now this woman may very well wind up a murder victim because she just had the _misfortune_ of speaking to Shawn Spencer for more than ten seconds on this particular day.

Despite having been through this before, Carlton feels sick at the thought. Especially that this is already proving to be inherently more challenging than previous games Yang has set up—and yet... Spencer is on top so far.

He desperately hopes that Spencer at least feels sick, too, but he hardly seems to be _acting_ like it.

"I believe he's using the alphabets to send a message... that he, too, believes that breakfast for lunch is way underrated!"

_Oh, god._

"Would anyone like to try writing this message with a burrito?" Spencer continues. "Open challenge. Take a shot... Exactly. I rest my case. And now I want a burrito."

Carlton knows he can't be the only one whose chest is burning hot and _not_ in a good way— _what the FUCK?_ Wanting to diffuse the situation with sarcasm, he gets. He _understands_ that, to some extent. But Spencer... is no less goddamn inane than usual. And now he's starting to think that maybe his dread isn't for _Spencer's_ sake.

But isn't it?

... _Is_ it?

 

*

 

" _Fine_. Knock yourself out, Dr. Dolittle."

" _Dr. Dolittle?_ ...I know you can do better than that, Lassie. I know you can."

He'd probably be angry if Spencer didn't say it so softly, and with a focus that indicates he's truly taking this part seriously. Or if he wasn't _right_ _—_ if he wasn't basically acknowledging aloud that _hey, our repertoire if important to me, but you're not putting your best cards on the table right now._

Not that Carlton can be expected to think of clever quips while something like this is going down.

 _Especially_ not that Spencer is actually speaking to a goddamn mouse.

Whatever he's doing down there, Carlton hopes it's _something_.

 

*

 

If anything, he certainly isn't jealous that Spencer and Guster had to chase a train like hobos.

But, it seems that with every clue in this fucked up game... Carlton has been cycling through being angry that he wasn't the one chosen, terrified that Spencer _was_ _—_ terrified for the outcome of this thing and _angry_ that Spencer is acting like a jackass (and has roped Guster into doing it, too), and then terrified _for_ Spencer, and... absolutely fucking amazed at what he's capable of.

No one has ever gotten this far before.

Though he's sure that if anyone else _had_ , they wouldn't have thrown their one chance at saving an innocent person's life _directly into the fucking ocean_.

_Jesus Christ._

He's horrified. He's—

How can Spencer do the things he does and still be so STUPID? For once he mostly forgoes the faux-psychic bullshit but he's _still_ being such a thoughtless jackass, and he just... He is breaking every one of Yang's rules, which _no one_ does.

...But maybe that's the point?

It's only a baby thought—a vague notion—as they all chase Spencer to the Psych office, where Carlton can only assume Spencer believes Yang is right now. And then he has to concede it when they find the binoculars by the window that prove it.

Yang is even giving him another fucking chance, probably because he's just _that_ good.

"Forget that, I'm... I'm not going," Spencer tells them. "I'm nobody's puppet, okay? I'm done—I'm done playing his little games. I solved his puzzles, I talked to a rat, I even chased a train, I'm—I'm finished."

He's never seen Spencer so visibly upset. He almost didn't imagine that Spencer was _capable_ of the kind of violent, desk-punching anger he showed only a minute ago, and he hardly ever thought he'd hear Spencer's voice crack the way it is now.

He hopes that he never hears it again.

But whether the emotion is real or not, Carlton knows one thing for sure: Spencer was right, and Yang was watching them, which means Yang is almost certainly still watching them, somehow. There's probably a camera hidden in here somewhere.

So he feels very _close_ to sure... that he knows _exactly_ what Spencer is doing.

He's doing what no one has thought to do before—circumventing the rules of the game entirely. If those two can make Yang think they're not playing along anymore, then they can all play this thing from two different sides. Carlton doesn't even have any doubt in his mind that Spencer can somehow figure this thing out without direct clues.

Alright. Yang's rules are out, and it's time to play along with Spencer's instead.

"You know what, _screw you_ , Spencer. We don't need you!" Carlton yells, hopeful that he's selling it. He then turns to his partner, who may or may not also be in on what they're doing, but he's also hoping that she doesn't. "We don't need him, O'Hara. We will find this sicko on our own— _come on_!"

Then, just before he rushes out of the office, he makes a point of flashing the stopwatch to Spencer. A split second should be enough for him to see it, with how hyper-observant he's proven to be.

And he tells him, but plays it like he's telling the whole room,

" _We're running out of time._ "

 

***

 

A little over eight months ago, Carlton went on what felt, at the time, like a dream date. A woman who could and absolutely _would_ kick his ass and eat it for breakfast, strong both physically and interpersonally, who could give him _any_ order and he would have no problem following...

Nevermind that she was the Chief's sister. Truthfully, that didn't bother him at all, as long as his being an employee of her sister's wasn't a problem for Barbara.

But something about him _did_ bother her, ultimately, and he was self-aware enough—while unable to have more self-control—to know exactly what it was.

It was a problem for _them_ as a potential unit, and frankly it was the biggest problem with a number of dates that Carlton had gone on in the past entire... year. It was that he couldn't _shut the fuck up_ about Spencer.

It wasn't like he spilled any _secrets_ or otherwise treated her like a therapist, but... he definitely mentioned him more often than probably _anyone_ would consider appropriate. In retrospect. What it _was_ like is that Barbara asked about his job—what some of his favorite cases were and the like, and every one of Carlton's answers came back to Spencer somehow, whether about him being a pain in the ass or solving the impossible.

Barbara tried veryhard to steer the conversation far away from Spencer several times. Part of him could tell how interested in him she must have been to give him so many chances, which is _extremely_ rare, and he did catch on once or twice and actively go her way for a bit.

He just couldn't help but steer it back. He didn't know what the hell was _wrong_ with him.

Except part of him definitely knew from the beginning, despite how much he liked her, that he was in for an afternoon of self-sabotage. The fact that Barbara stuck around so long and didn't even leave abruptly was a goddamn _miracle_.

Even so, he didn't mourn that lost opportunity for too long. Though he did refuse to acknowledge the _reason_ it was lost for a while.

About four months ago, Carlton experienced the terror of watching Spencer come very close to death and, briefly, being unable to do anything about it. For the first time, he had the personal, firsthand, _right-in-his-face_ realization that Spencer may die, and that it may even be his fault—and exactly how it would make him feel.

The present possibility _tore him to shreds_ , and... and there was really no denying it after that.

Especially not while he couldn't escape images of Drimmer and everything that happened and everything that _could_ have happened for weeks afterward. Not while he had literally no past experience to compare against the way he'd felt just seeing a gun pointed at Spencer's head.

Not while his brain still refuses to let him forget the feeling.

Almost exactly three weeks ago, Carlton got divorced. And with the likelihood of him ever reconciling with Victoria having officially dropped to zero... is there really any point in trying to ignore it?

He knows he can't imagine his life without Spencer, at the very same time that life _with_ him is overwhelming.

He knows he would die for Spencer, and not entirely in the same way that he is ready to die in the line of duty or while giving his life for someone else's. He would trash that world-view entirely and _live_ with Spencer, given the option.

He knows that he feels fiercely protective of Spencer, far past the extent of his oath to protect and serve. Spencer may not be like other civilians, anyway, but he's not like a cop, either—nor is he even like other consultants because Carlton can't _honestly_ say that he feels anywhere near the same about Guster.

He knows it's not just a physical protectiveness, either. It isn't just death or otherwise bodily harm that Carlton wants to keep him from, as he's very recently understood.

Probably less than an hour ago, it seems, Yang kidnapped Spencer's mother. And whether through the bare facts of it or with the _look_ on Spencer's face—every little twitch and the strain and stiffness that wouldn't normally be there, which Carlton notices with an intensity that he _never_ has... he feels that pain along with him.

For a moment, as he stands there and watches Spencer likely forcing himself to come to terms, he feels the terrible urge to push past O'Hara and Guster and to actually fucking _hug_ him.

Carlton is _not_ going to do that.

Even Guster doesn't do that, so he probably wouldn't want it in the first place.

But, as he leaves Spencer alone to search the rest of the hotel room for clues, it occurs to him that this may be the first time he's named that urge. And the first time he's been perfectly okay with himself having it.

 

*

 

Carlton always thought that if this thing ever ended for good, it would end bloody. That Yang would have to be riddled with holes Bonnie & Clyde-style before he was taken in. That it might even end in his suicide, like many serial killers of this nature have done. Or that he'd try to take someone with him.

Those would all have been pretty solid, _satisfying_ endings, in his opinion.

Instead—plot twist—Mr. Yang is _Ms._ Yang, and now that she's finally been beat she seems perfectly ready to just... throw in the murdering towel. She doesn't resist arrest in the least. According to McNab, she was grinning and humming to herself the whole ride to the station.

It doesn't make sense. Is that _it_? Was all of this needless murder just— _just_ to find someone who could win her game? And Spencer, with his unmatched ability to be so goddamn high-functioning under duress—he comes along, does what no one else has come close to doing before, and that's it. Pack up the pieces, the game's over, she doesn't care anymore.

He won't accept that ending.

He should simply be glad that it's over. He should be thankful that no one had to die this time, and he should do what Vick has expressly given him permission to do and _go home_. He _really_ fucking should, but... He can't. He has to be the one to question her.

He's been waiting for this day for thirteen years, after all.

Pretty much the moment Carlton walks into the interrogation room, though, and before he even intends to get a word out, she says,

"Oh, finally—I've been waiting to ask. You think that when I get my picture taken for my news spot, I could get Shawn to be in it too? Like maybe we could both do that finger-to-head pose that he does—"

"Absolutely not," he interrupts swifty, making a point of showing no emotion as he sits down.

"Dontcha think Shawn should get a say in it? It's not very progressive of you to answer on his behalf, Car—"

"Why on earth would he want to be anywhere near you?" He only asks because she somehow looks like she _genuinely_ believes the crazy shit she's saying. Just then, she raises her eyebrows. "You tried to kill his mother."

Yang throws her hands up in a sort of shrug. "But did she die, though?"

"You strapped her with a bomb. Maybe you don't know this, but that's enough for most people to take personally." Alright. _Enough of this._ Carlton brings out the notepad. "What's your real name?"

"How do you define 'real?'"

"Legal."

"Well, in that case my real name is—" She proceeds to scream at the top of her lungs, startling the _hell_ out of Carlton and the two police guards, and stops as abruptly as she started. "But everyone calls me Yang!"

With that, she folds her hands on the table and smiles sweetly.

Okay, so he won't get anywhere with that question. He didn't expect her to give away her real identity so quickly anyway.

"Where do you live, Yang?"

"Where does anyone _live_ , really?"

"Usually at some kind of address."

"Oh, you're _funny_ , Carlton—Shawn must have a _fun_ time bantering with you. All of his chaos and plays-by-his-own-rules attitude next to your order and discipline? Now that's a show I'd watch."

He maintains a straight face. "An address?"

"You know, I _really_ have to commend Shawn for the whole _dropping out of the game_ move... It was frustrating, but exciting! No one's ever done that before! I can't necessarily say that it would have worked had anyone else tried it, though—Shawn's really something else, isn't he? It must be _amazing_ to work beside him—God, I've only been watching from afar, and _I'm_ in love."

He is _not_ going to dignify that. "I'll take a street name. A neighborhood. A—"

"Honestly! I knew Shawn could do it from the beginning. I really did. I believed in him and he _pulled through_ , and I... I've never been happier in my _life_. Do you know how that feels, Carlton? To finally meet the person you know you were _meant_ to be with?"

That sparks something in him that he couldn't ignore if he wanted to.

"No, I can't say I've ever been as delusional as you. Do you even live _in_ Santa Barbara?"

"Do you want to know a secret?" she says somehow both sharply and softly, leaning across the table. Carlton remains still, both in his body and face, heart beating in his throat. "Well, do you?"

"... _Sure_." He hopes to god it's something he actually wants to hear.

But probably not, considering the almost ghoulish way her lips slowly stretch into a grin.

"Don't tell him," she mock-whispers, "because I don't want to come on too strong... but I've been waiting for Shawn ever since I started this thing. You know he was just freshly eighteen in that first summer? I bet he even could have gone up against me all the way back then, and I could have met him so much _sooner_ _—_ oh, I wish so _badly_ that I had... Not that I didn't have _any_ fun with those other two. Especially that ex-boyfriend of yours—Sebastian Marks, right? He wasn't at all comparable to Shawn, of course—"

" _Shut up._ " God. There are other cops listening who _never_ knew about that.

"—but overall he did come in second. Killing an actual _kid_ is normally even below my standards, I'll admit, but to be fair, I'm sure you remember Marks was a _helluva_ loner. Not too many options, other than yourself— _actually_ , I briefly considered it in spite of my own M.O. And let's not kid ourselves, I absolutely could have, but you know what? I figured I'd save you for a later date, and look! It totally paid off."

She's looking at him like she expects him to enthusiastically agree, and Carlton has never been more disgusted. For a few seconds he's so blinded with rage that he forgets what he's even _doing_ here, and then Yang says,

"You think Marks might've actually beaten me if I'd taken you, though? Ooh, I wonder how much harder Shawn might have worked if I'd taken you _this_ time—"

His hands slam down on the table with such force that both almost feel broken, and he feels the vibrations under his feet. Yang herself jolts just slightly, and the two officers standing guard are halfway into a ready stance.

And he believes for a moment that he's continuing to slam his hands down before he realizes that that's just his heartbeat.

"Oh, _detective_ ," Yang tuts, after a moment. "That wasn't very professional."

Just then, the interrogation room door opens, and Carlton twists around to see the Chief motioning for him to come out with her. For probably the first time in his whole career, he's thankful for it.

Vick shuts the door behind them, and—

"By now she certainly isn't going to tell us anything of value, Lassiter. Just go home. I'm not asking."

Carlton jerks a nod and doesn't look back.

 

*

 

Chief Vick may have told him to go home, but what she really meant was to get in his car and leave the station and probably also to get proper rest in some way or other. Regardless, Carlton can't bring himself to take that order _quite_ yet.

Instead, almost unconsciously (at least for the first few turns), he drives in the direction of the Psych office.

But not because he thinks Spencer is in danger after tonight. That wouldn't make any sense, and at the very least would be just plain anticlimactic.

Not to tell him what Yang said— _no_ , he couldn't do that to him, even if Spencer wanted to know. He won't _ever_ let Spencer know what Yang told him if he can help it. Whether she was telling the truth about this _entire_ thing being about him or not... he'll be better off in the dark.

Not to ambush him with all the things Carlton personally realized throughout today, either. Not to give him any kind of stupid confession, or to try to _kiss_ him, or— _Christ_. No. Even if he had that courage right now, he is not going to burden Spencer with something heavy like that after all he's just been through.

Even Carlton isn't _that_ tactless or selfish.

It seems, however, that he wouldn't be able to do any of that, anyway. He arrives outside the Psych office, and all the lights are off. Neither Spencer's motorcycle nor Guster's echo are parked anywhere nearby.

 _Huh._ He thought for sure this would be his immediate destination. Perhaps he went home instead, but—

No, that's too personal. He can't. He _shouldn't_ , anyway.

But he doesn't feel inclined to put his car in reverse and forget this whole impulse, either. In fact Carlton feels fucking _exhausted_ , far more than even just a few minutes ago—like he was just now hit by a train. And, well. As long as he's already here, just a bit of pressure on the gas pedal and a jerk on the gear shift away from a parking space.

He passes out in the driver's seat within the minute.

 

***

 

Shawn would recognize that car from a mile away in complete darkness.

Impossible, Gus tells him. Unless he was Clark Kent. Of course Shawn has better hair and a better chin than Clark Kent, but he doesn't say that because Gus would probably yell at him about blasphemy—and either way it's not the _point_ , Gus.

"I think I have a free pass to make all the hyperboles I want for the next twenty-four hours," he adds, slamming the blueberry's passenger door shut and jogging across the street to their usual parking space.

The guy looks fast asleep in there. Shawn taps on the window.

As desperately in need of rest as he is, Carlton was _not_ that fast asleep—and with a glance to his car's clock, he apparently only got about twenty-five minutes. And he wakes up a lot more when he looks to his left.

Once the window is rolled all the way down, Shawn puts one hand on the sill to make it easier to lean down.

"What's up, Lassie?"

Carlton is pretty sure that means _what are you doing here_ _—_ which he himself is still trying to put into words that don't sound stupid. Or otherwise too obvious.

But when he doesn't respond quickly enough, Shawn gets nervous.

"Did—did she escape—?"

"Oh—no!" he assures him quickly, sitting up a bit straighter in his seat and shaking his head a little too hard. "No, she's—she's fucking _insane_ and we haven't gotten a single coherent sentence out of her, but she's perfectly secure. It doesn't even seem like she'd want to escape."

"Right," Shawn mutters, nodding to himself. "Right, yeah—that wouldn't be a good resolution... She said she wants to write a book."

At that Carlton lets out a mirthless laugh and, without thinking, without even looking, moves to grip the windowsill. His hand lands where Shawn's is instead.

Both of them pause, but neither end up jerking away.

But now the question of _what_ exactly Carlton is doing parked in front of the Psych office suddenly weighs heavier in the air, and he figures he might as well get his answer over with.

"Uh, the Chief wanted me to come check up on you," he lies, knowing damn well Spencer sees right through it. "I figured you'd be here."

Shawn glances very briefly at their hands, and then to Gus, who has just decided to run up to the office without him.

"Yeah, um. Gus and I stayed at the drive-in and caught the showing of Rear Window." It's not a lie, but he _would_ be lying if he said he didn't know why he neglected to mention it was a date with Abigail. "But I'm... You can let the _Chief_ know that after just a few more movies—Tombstone, Real Genius, and The Doors _in that order_ , some red vines, and a pineapple-scented bubble bath... I'll be fine. Maybe you wanna write that down, so you remember it all?"

After knowing Spencer for so long, there's no telling whether or not he's _honestly_ going to do all that. But Carlton immediately notices, and can't help but ask—

"Where does 'sleep' show up on that list?"

"Is that what the Chief is worried about?" That, combined with the smirk Shawn gives him, makes Carlton's face flush. Good thing it's dark. "...There's no telling at this juncture, but it will likely fall somewhere in the middle of that bath. Don't worry, though—I'll have Gus to make sure I don't drown. Though pineapple-scented sleep asphyxia sounds like a pretty cool way to go, doesn't it?"

Carlton frowns. "Not particularly."

"Maybe that's because you haven't said it out loud yet. Try it, Lassie— _pineapple-scented sleep asphyxia_. Rolls right off the tongue. I promise it's very fun and silly and not even that morbid to think about—"

"Don't you think it would be a waste of bubbles to die by pineapple-scented sleep asphyxia?" he manages to ask with a straight face.

Shawn, meanwhile, absolutely _beams_ upon hearing Lassiter say it. Now Lassiter himself looks a little embarrassed.

"...Well, you're welcome to come join us, Lassie. But you might have to sit on the floor by Gus and I's feet... You can have the popcorn bowl to yourself, though. I'm, uh, kinda worn out on popped corn for tonight."

Ridiculous as it is, it's a real offer on the off chance that he does take it. Somehow even Carlton is aware of that. He's also suddenly more aware that his hand is still on top of Spencer's, and that they haven't moved at all.

"Hm. _Tempting_ , but—" They both know he couldn't, even if being a third wheel was appealing right now. "I gotta get going."

"Right, you gotta go let the _Chief_ know that I have remained spectacularly unaffected."

"... _Right_."

"Because you... can't just text her, because you left your phone at the station," Shawn supplies casually, though finding it hard not to laugh.

Carlton can see the edges of his mouth twitching into the slightest of smirks. He plays along anyway.

"Right, I did. Nice catch. _Oh_ , and, um... good work today, Spencer." He tries very hard to make that sound professional, but he still knows Shawn can see right through him.

"Wow, that means a lot coming from you," he responds, with just enough sarcasm to be frustrating. It's true, though. "But, after you're done with that... you should go home. G'night, Lassie."

All in a fraction of a second, Shawn shifts the hand he has on the sill, brings his thumb up to give a short squeeze to Lassiter's hand, then takes his other hand off the top of the car to pat the top of Lassiter's before smiling and slipping away.

In somewhat of a state of shock, Carlton watches him jog up the two steps and disappear into the office, and only afterward does he realize that his hand is still hanging out the window. Slowly, he pulls it back in, rolls the window back up, and starts the car, and... stares at his hand. And then he glances back to the Psych office, where the lights are now on.

Carlton takes a deep breath, absentmindedly brushes the back of his left hand with his right, and lets himself smile in a way that matches everything bursting inside of his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> And cue [_Within Your Reach_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q67Il27DbFo) by The Replacements, a la the actual way the episode ended. 
> 
> I could have included Lassiter inevitably finding out that Shawn is now dating Abigail, or Shawn mulling over what an emotional predicament he's now in, but I decided to end on happiness instead.
> 
> I fully believe, btw, that by the end of season 3 Lassiter had basically 100% come to terms with his feelings for Shawn.


End file.
